I Hate This Mini Bus
I can now say with 100% conviction that I will be taking an extended break from road trips and vehicle dwelling of any kind. I think the mini bus is overheating because the clutch on the radiator fan went out - or something like that. This wasn’t my diagnosis but rather a tele-health call with my mechanic (modern day saint), who is now favorited on my phone because we seemingly chat once a week. So now, because of these hypotheses, I’m in a budget hotel just off I-10 in Benson, Arizona.
Benson isn’t known for much, Sabrina the hotel manager told me as I checked in. They have some caverns, Tombstone is close by, the railroad runs through. They also have about a dozen mechanics, all of whom are booked out for the remainder of the week. It’s Monday.
I hate losing control. I know most people would say that they hate losing control, but I really do hate it. I like to think I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of gal, but now I’m questioning that entirely. Laid-back is easy to maintain when I’m with others, when it’s the weekend, when I have enough money I feel secure about my next few months, you know, when stuff is easy. But right now, none of those things are happening and panic has set in.
Wanna know what’s in control right now? The dumb short bus parked outside of this hotel room. I bought it on a whim in Moab last November, just hours after selling my reliable, safe, trusty, albeit plain Dodge Promaster. I just had to do it. I wanted to be cool.
The bus had character in spades. The low mileage and TLC from a previous owner who also saw it as a diamond in the rough certainly helped its case. Picturing myself cruising around the desert, windows down, diesel engine rattling as I pulled up to scenic vistas was too enticing to turn down. But now, this ridiculous rattle trap has given me issues on every road trip we’ve taken since starting our relationship. I’d like to stick a big for sale sign in the window and call it a day.
I can’t, though. Because it’s not working properly and I would have no clear cut way home from this random outpost. What if it’s all in my head and, in fact, the bus isn’t overheating but just responding to the warming temperatures of southern Arizona in the spring time? What if she is actually just fine to drive all the way home in? Gosh I wish I knew stuff about cars. Or rather, I wish the internet and my dad had more info to offer on 1996 Chevy G30 short bus engines.
What am I most afraid of with this whole bus situation? What’s keeping me up right now? In a full blown panic. Heart racing, mouth dry. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t know what to do in Benson, Arizona. But no, that can’t be true. There are caverns to explore! A railroad! Maybe it’s that I’m so very far from home - almost 1,000 miles from Fort Collins. Which Vanessa Carlton said she would walk but I won’t.
Maybe it’s because the near future - mine and the bus’s - are both very uncertain. The long, extended future feels less ambiguous (for the first time in a long time) than the next few days feel right now. How often does that happen to people? To me? When I lived full time in the van, I always knew where I’d head to next. I’d meet up with friends, spend money on a campground, visit a place I knew really well. I’d keep it all under control.
Not so with this little shortie. She clanks, she leaks - oil and diesel out, water in, she lumbers up to a speedy 55 mph in 30 seconds flat. Impressive, I know. Now, her radiator fan might be broken, and I might be staying in Benson for the next few days. Or maybe I’ll limp to Las Cruces so I can at least be that much closer to home, that much closer to control.
There’s definitely a grander metaphor in here that I want to get into, but all I can think about right now is how I’m fixing to spend a lot of money and time on this knee-jerk purchase. Or on multiple nights in a budget hotel. Or on a one-way ticket out of dodge. Perhaps all three if it comes down to it.
